


A Father's Love

by Lechuza_Rosado



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Family, Family Drama, Family Feels, Gen, Medic is a good dad, Mild Gore, and then i was crying an hour later, maybe? Medic like pokes at a heart in a tray, no one he knows its fine, okay so the run down is I thought what if medic had a kid with his wife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:15:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25477531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lechuza_Rosado/pseuds/Lechuza_Rosado
Summary: Isabela takes a moment to talk about her father, Dr Raphael Ludwig. And how despite not being a good man, he was a good dad. Whom she misses very much.
Relationships: Medic/Medic's Wife (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	A Father's Love

My name is Isabela Azevedo Ludwig, daughter of Maria Diolinda da Silva Azeved and Dr. Raphael Ludwig. The latter who's current wear bouts are... _unknown_.

My father is actually the one who delivered me you know. I was born a month early, he and my mother were on a train to France to visit family. He's not- wasn't that kind of doctor but apparently he had no problem delivering me, safe and healthy. I don't know all the details, but I remember the picture of me wrapped in my father's coat from a newspaper clipping framed on the wall. It was one of the few things he took from his office when he left.

I suppose looking back on it I should have seen the signs that my father wasn't a _normal_ man. Married to his work, animal skeletons in his office, flat out telling me what a birth canal is when I asked where babies come from when I was five.

He was not like the average man. But one thing I want to get across- he was a _good_ father. At least, to me he was. He would always tell me the truth when I asked questions, even admit when he didn't know the answer. Clean up my scraped knees, and even tell me bedtime stories when he was home early enough.

My mother by the way- she was there too and was a great one! Still is, I feel like I'm making her look bad. She's a university professor you know, teaches chemistry. My father and her met in college back in the UK during the war actually. I feel like their marriage..was impulsive. I don't blame them, the world was a scary place at the time. But if there’s something I’m positive about, they really did love each other at some point. I guess it was that love that made my mother blind to what was going on in the first place. At least when it started.

They didn't so much feel like a married couple and more like a pair of really good coworkers. I guess after a while the spark of their relationship faded and instead of trying to bring it back, they worked together to live as best they could. To raise me as best they can. I remember them being very friendly in my early years, wise remarks, a shoulder touch. Or my mother swearing at him while laughing, him laughing right along with her.

It was when I was nine I started to notice something.

There wasn’t an incident or sudden change in my father, his personality never changed. But, he was staying at work later and later as time passed. He was a doctor! He was always so busy. Even when he was home he would be in his office most of the time. Despite all that he always made time for me. Even leaving the door open so there would still be a presence of him. But then the door started to stay shut more and more often.

One day it wasn’t, so I thought it was alright to say hello. Maybe get him to read a new book I’d gotten. I already knew how to read of course, but I always liked the voices he did. Anyway- my mother wasn’t home. She had gone to run an errand, and I wasn’t in a mood to be dragged around the store with nothing to do when I could just stay home.

My father was at his desk when I looked in, his desk lamp was the only light in there. On his desk was-..on his desk was- a human heart. A human heart on a tray next to a jar filled with formaldehyde. He was poking at it. And it was… _somehow_ still _beating_.

Now, I was nine years old. I didn’t know it was a human heart at the time. I didn’t even know that you’re _not supposed_ to have human hearts in jars even if you’re a doctor. My father had animals in jars, some of them were see-through and had their bones dyed. He would sometimes sit me down and explain that animal’s skeleton system. So when I saw that, I thought my dad had just brought home a neat new addition to his collection.

I asked him if I could see and he looked like the cat caught with something it shouldn’t be. He was very silent, mouth wide in surprise. I don't think he even realized the door was open. I asked him again if I could see and that snapped him out of it.

Quietly he said he thought I was with my mother. I told him as dramatically as a child could that I rather stay home with him. By now he had stopped poking at the heart with whatever was in his hands. Slowly it stopped beating, calmly he told me he was looking at something for work. Said he wasn’t supposed to bring this kind of work home so it's best I keep quiet about it, even from my mother.

 _‘Your mother is very big on rules, you know. I wouldn’t want to upset her.’_ he said, it made sense to me. It never crossed my mind that he was doing something bad. This was my father, how could he do anything bad? He was a grown up, and most grown ups never did anything wrong.

He quickly put the thing away into the jar and in his medical bag. Quickly changing the subject when he saw my book, washing up, and taking me to the living room to read it together. He even made dinner that night which surprised my mother. He did everything he could to keep me from thinking about what I saw in his office that night.

I started to notice things more often after that, specs of blood on his shirts when he came home, day trips he would have to go on, hushed phone calls at one in the morning I could barely hear when I would wake up to use the bathroom. Even started to keep a cooler in his office, and he never left the door open again.

The rift between him and my mother was getting worse. I didn’t see it right away, my mother told me a few years after everything that apparently they were both very careful to never fight in front of me. Both of them grew up with that, and didn’t want that for me.

I did hear the tail end of a fight once though. When I was eleven, I went to a friend’s house down the street. I came home a bit early and I could hear them muffled through the door so I made sure to open it as quiet as I could.

My mother wasn’t yelling per say- but her voice was raised in a way I never heard before. I didn’t hear everything but from what I remember what she said was-

_‘I don’t want excuses anymore. You and I both know I’m smarter than that Raphael. I don’t care about the small details. I don’t care about the money, I don’t even care about that man- yes that man I’ve seen staring at the house at night across the street. Don’t think I don’t know about him and your deals.’_

She spoke softer after that, and I couldn’t hear her or my father that well. I didn’t know what to do, or how to feel. I was frozen to the spot. But I quietly slipped back outside after collecting myself, and opened the door as loud as I could without getting a scolding, shouting _‘I’m home!’_ as cheery as possible.

My father immediately came into view, and he had a smile like he always did. It made me feel relieved, like what I heard was my imagination getting too far. He scooped me up in his arms and spun me around like he always did. And suggested we all go out for dinner that night, as a treat since it was Friday.

Looking back on it, it's a bit scary to see how easy and how well my dad could hide these things. I almost fell for it too, because I looked at my mother just for a moment. And I could see her face. For that split second, she looked like she wanted to rip me out of my father’s arms and run as fast as she could.

Despite everything, I don’t believe my father would ever have hurt me. Or my mother for that matter. I know the police thought maybe he was stealing our organs while we slept or something but he could never do that to us. But knowing what my father was doing behind our backs.. I understand why my mother had that expression now.

After that, again, it was little things. Signs that should have tipped me off that I thought was my dad just being, well, my dad.

I still remember the night he left.

It was very late, but I woke up to him stroking my hair and singing to me. My door was open, and he had his bag in the hallway. Instead of pajamas he had his coat and boots on.  
I guess he wasn’t trying to wake me because he stopped when I asked him what was wrong. Like always, he never lied to me. He took a deep breath and waited for me to sit up. He said he had to leave home. He told me he had done some things he shouldn’t have, and he knew he shouldn’t have, but he did them anyway.

I asked him why, and he said the reason was too complicated for me right now. But the short of it was he thought he should do it.

I was still a bit sleepy, so I guess it wasn’t all sinking in just yet. I asked him when he would come back and-...

He said he didn’t think he would _ever_ be back. But it was important to him that I knew- that I knew he _loved_ me. That he _loved mom_ , and that he would miss both of us with all his heart.

I started to cry after that, and immediately my father held me in his arms. I was always a quiet crier. Still am I guess, but I don’t think my dad had held me tighter before that moment. The only sound was his heartbeat against my ears. Slowly comforting me, beating to the rhythm of my breathing.

Once I got some of it out of my system, I wiggled out of his arms and I crawled out of bed to the birdcage in my room. I had a pet dove at the time, my father gave him to me when he was still a baby. His name was Archimedes, my mother came up with it. Then my father explained to me who Archimedes was for a good half hour when I asked about the funny sounding name.

I took Archimedes out of his cage and handed him to my father. He looked confused for a moment before I said- I said I wanted him to take him along. If it was just going to be me and mom now, we had each other. But my dad wouldn’t have anyone, and I didn’t want him to be lonely. And I wanted to give him something that would remind him of me.

That was the only time I’d ever seen my dad cry, even if only a little bit. And as always he managed to smile, but much sadder this time. When I think about the expression on his face sometimes, I wonder if he regretted what he had done. If he had a chance to do it over again, would he choose to stay with us? As a family?

Archimedes was safely on his shoulder, he always did like my father. Then he tucked me back into bed, kissed my forehead and said _‘Goodnight, Mein Täubchen’_.

Little dove, that’s what he called me all the time. Long as I could remember. Maybe that’s why he gave me Archimedes, so I would have my own little dove.

That was the last time I ever saw my father. But he still calls from time to time, not often but, I’ve been able to tell him about how we’re doing. My mother never talks to him, I stopped asking years ago. I don’t know if she even talked to him the night he left. When he was gone it was hard, but she’s doing much better these days. A light is back in her eyes, like before when my father was still someone she adored. So maybe it’s for the better I guess.

My father always sent us money, but when I said I would be starting college soon and how excited I was he all of a sudden sent... a lot more. More than enough for me to go to a good school and cover what I needed. He had gotten a job apparently around the same time. So he’s been able to call me much more often, which is nice.

He talks about Archimedes, no idea how that bird is still alive after all this time, I don’t ask. And about his coworkers, he seems very fond of them. I’m glad he has them, that he has someone in his life now. That he regained some new ‘normal’ just like me and my mother did.

I still miss him. I hope maybe one day, I can see him again.

**Author's Note:**

> idk man I thought too much about the idea of medic having a family and got carried away,,,,
> 
> I also drew medic and his wife when they were young @ lechuza-doodles on tumblr if you wanna give that a look! I plan to draw and write more eventually.
> 
> Maria is Brazilian btw, thus Isabela is Brazilian/German! :3


End file.
